


I Bloom Only For You

by violue



Series: Carnival Oasis [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Awesome Use of Coconut Oil, Barebacking, Bottom Dean, Canon-Typical Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Creature Castiel, Hunter Dean, M/M, Mild Jealous Dean, Oral Sex, Top Castiel, Wing Kink, mentioned character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 13:55:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5872960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violue/pseuds/violue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean still has no idea what the hell Castiel is, and Castiel still won't give him a straight answer. But since he has no intention of leaving, Dean is just going to have to put up with being in the dark a while longer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Bloom Only For You

**Author's Note:**

> Be sure to read the first part before you read this. Beta'd by the Great and Powerful [Kelisab](http://kelisab.tumblr.com) <3

Dean comes back to the carnival for the third day in a row, eats a soft pretzel for the third day in a row, wanders to the tent in the far corner for the third day in a row. Unlike the previous two days, though, someone comes out of Castiel’s tent as he approaches. He’s about Dean’s age, on the attractive side of average, and he’s blushing slightly. He steps on one of the red tulips in the grass, and Dean bristles without really knowing why. The man doesn’t acknowledge Dean beyond making sure not to walk right into him, and Dean stands there, watching as he rushes for the carnival’s exit. When the man is finally gone, Dean looks back at the tent. Something in him feels… sour. Dry and brittle like the ground beyond Castiel’s oasis.

He’s jealous.

He’s jealous, and it’s so stupid. They’re nothing to each other. They barely know each other. Dean _still_ doesn’t know what the fuck Castiel is, and they’ve spent all of ninety minutes in each other’s company. He shouldn’t even be here, really. He should be going to Valencia, or maybe finding a hunt. He doesn’t need to keep hanging around this fucking carnival.

He stands there and stares at the tent, feet half in the grass, half in the dusty field behind him. He can’t seem to walk forward, but he can’t bring himself to turn around and leave, either. Eventually he crouches next to the crushed tulip, feeling some odd sense of loss. He reaches out, stroking the cool petals with the backs of his fingers, startling when the petals flutter. The broken stem knits back together in front of Dean’s eyes, and slowly the tulip pulls itself up off the ground until it’s standing up straight.

There’s a sound of fabric shifting and Dean scrambles to his feet. Castiel is standing in front of the entrance to the tent, feet bare, cassock as red as the tulips in the grass. The sight of him outside of the tent is confusing, some part of Dean didn’t fully grasp that he could exist outside of it. He wants to greet Castiel, or maybe ask him if he knows his tulips are magic, but instead he blurts out “Who was that?”

Castiel’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Who?”

“The guy that left a couple minutes ago.”

“Ah,” Castiel says, shrugging lightly. “That was… Eric, I believe. Or perhaps it was Aaron.”

“What was… why was he here?”

Castiel points to the sign next to the tent, the one that reads “CONFESSION STAND” in big letters. “What do you think he was here for? To confess a sin and get a prize.”

“Did you—” Dean stops himself from finishing his sentence, because there’s no way to ask what he wants to ask without sounding like a total creep.

Castiel steps closer to Dean, eyes soft, fond. “You needn’t be jealous,” he says gently, taking Dean’s hands in his. “I would never commune with another the way I’ve communed with you.”

Dean grunts, looking away. “Fuck whoever you want, man, I don’t even know you.”

“That’s very generous of you,” Castiel says dryly, “but my response remains the same. I would never commune with another in that way, not now.”

“What about before me?”

“Is there an answer I can provide that will satisfy you?” Castiel sounds mildly irritated.

“I’m sorry,” Dean grumbles, looking down to where their hands are still joined. “I don’t know what my problem is. I don’t know what this is, what we are. What _you_ are.”

“I told you yesterday, Dean,” Castiel says, leaning in until his lips are beside Dean’s ear. “When we lay tangled together in my nest, release cooling on my hips, I told you what I was.”

Dean shakes his head slowly, shivers running through him. “No you didn’t.”

“I told you that I was yours,” Castiel whispers, tongue brushing against Dean’s earlobe.

Dean’s legs are threatening to give out on him. “That’s not a real answer,” he insists.

“It’s all you need.”

Dean swallows, throat dry. “Will you ever tell me?”

“Of course, Dean. Nanaeel. Bien. Lasdi.” Castiel mutters each foreign word as he plants kisses along Dean’s neck. “You are mine now, Dean, I will not dishonor you, nor will I trick you, nor will I share my body with another. I hope you might extend me the same courtesy, though I understand humans are very fickle. It’s written in the nature of so many of your kind’s sins.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that, _any_ of that, so he doesn’t speak at all, only clutches at Castiel’s hands and tries to stay upright.

They stand there for several minutes, not speaking, not moving, just leaning into each other’s orbit. Dean can hear the sounds of the carnival; laughter, the beeps and alarms of the skee-ball machines, endless chatter, but it all seems far away.

“Why are you here?” Dean asks, voice barely above a whisper. “Why some busted old carnival in Nowheresville, Colorado?”

“I found it charming,” Castiel says, looking at the world over Dean’s shoulder. “The brother and sister who run it don’t much care for it, but they keep it going because it was their father’s business. The rides don’t work, they put too much sugar in their funnel cake, many of the games are rigged, and to save money there’s only one portable toilet for the entire property. But still customers come day after day, play the rigged games, eat the overpriced and mediocre food… and they have a wonderful time.”

Dean starts to turn to look at the carnival behind him, but finds he can’t quite look away. “How long have you been here?”

“Oh, not long in the grand scheme of things. Before here I lived in something called an ‘organic ecovillage’ in North Carolina, and before that I was a bartender in a lovely little town in Maine…”

“How old are you, Cas?”

“Older than you,” is the reply. Of course.

“Do you have friends? Family?”

“I have… acquaintances more than I have close friends,” Castiel says, a little sadly. “I also have a family. Very large, and very, very far away.”

Dean feels like he’s ending up with more questions for every answer he gets. “Will you tell me how you knew my name? Can you read my mind?”

Castiel tilts his head, like he’s deciding whether or not he can read Dean’s mind. “No, not really. But sometimes things… float in the air. A name, a favorite song…” Castiel’s eyes drift down to Dean’s chest. “A favored revolver.”

Dean can’t help asking again. “What are you, Cas?”

“Aoiveae, maybe,” Castiel says. Another word Dean doesn’t know.

“Why was that guy blushing when he left your tent?”

Castiel chuckles, letting go of Dean’s hands. Dean aches. “As I said, sometimes things float in the air. He confessed his sin of stealing office supplies then propositioned me, and I told him I thought that might be unfair to the wife he’d neglected to mention.”

“Oh…” Dean feels embarrassed, now. Time to change the subject. “Are your tulips alive?”

Castiel’s eyebrows furrow. “Are flowers not generally alive?”

“Okay, maybe that was the wrong word. But… that guy. He stepped on one… and then when I touched it, it got back up.”

Castiel looks surprised at that. “Really? Which one?”

Dean points to the flower curved towards Castiel’s left leg. “That one. The stem was broken, petals crushed, and then I touched it, and…”

“It must like you,” Castiel says, and Dean can’t tell if that’s a joke or not.

“Did you make them?”

“I have energy to burn, sometimes. You gave me so much energy, Dean.”

“Really? The process seems to tire you out.”

“Indulgence can be exhausting, I suppose. Adrenaline, food, sex, it can all tire one out, yes?”

“Do you eat food?”

“If I’m in the mood. You have so many questions, Dean.”

Dean grimaces. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m curious about you too.”

“Ask away,” Dean says, following Castiel when he heads back into the tent.

“Hmm, where to start,” Castiel says, sitting on his futon which is as messy as ever. “What’s in Valencia?”

“What?”

“Valencia, it keeps spilling out of you with some urgency. What’s there?”

“Family. My brother, his wife, their daughters.”

“Valencia is a very affluent part of California.”

“Sammy’s a lawyer. A good one.”

“But you’re a hunter.”

“Yeah, well… my dad’s a hunter, my mom was a hunter, got lots of hunter cousins…”

“Oh.” Castiel takes Dean’s hand. “You don’t get along with your father, do you?”

“We used to get along, but… people change. Now we mostly just piss each other off.” Castiel shudders, and Dean glares when he sees the wisps of light in his eyes. “What are you, _snacking_? Stop that, I wasn’t confessing.”

“Bad manners, I suppose. I’m sorry.” Castiel doesn’t look sorry at all.

“Jackass.”

“Are you on a hunt?”

“No.”

“So, why are you here, and not in Valencia?”

“I was driving around, and something pulled me here, and then I met you… so here I am.”

Castiel looks incredibly pleased by that. “But you want to go back to Valencia, don’t you?”

“Not yet. Sometimes I need a break. Sam and his family are great, but… it’s normal, there. Sam walks his dog and works hectic hours during the week, and Jess does the housewife thing and volunteers at the animal shelter when the kids are at school, and it’s all so _wholesome._ It’s wholesome, and I don’t belong there, so sometimes I have to get away.”

The lanterns flicker and Castiel abruptly lets go of Dean’s hand, letting out an almost hysterical moan as he falls back onto the futon. Dean can see the tattoos glowing even through Castiel’s clothes.

“Ah, Dean, _Dean_ ,” Castiel pants, fingers clenching in one of the blankets. “Warn me before you do something like that.”

“Something like _what_?”

“I told you, the bigger the sin feels to you… the bigger it is to me.”

“I didn’t realize I…”

Castiel is writhing on the bed, looking so very out of sorts. “You feel so guilty for who you are, I wasn’t quite expecting that.”

“Keep it in your pants, Cas, Jesus.”

Castiel opens his eyes to glare at Dean, the light not receding like Dean expects. “I apologize if I have offended your delicate human sensibilities, but I have little control over how you affect me.”

“Are you overloading or something?” Dean asks, staring into the blue-white swirls of light peering back at him.

“Or something,” Castiel groans.

“How do I help you?”

“I’m okay, Dean, it was simply… a bit much, when I’ve already had such a full week.”

“I’m just filling you with sin, huh? Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. It’s not unpleasant, merely overwhelming. It’s incredible,” Castiel moans, eyes closing again. Dean can see a shudder run through him, and one of the nearest lanterns cracks and goes out.

It’s beyond strange, seeing his own self loathing transfer into something that has Castiel panting and squirming. How can something that’s so dark create so much light in Castiel’s eyes?

Castiel looks appetizing like this, though, and Dean crawls over him to bring their lips together, easy in a way strangers have no business being. Castiel moans into the kiss, hands coming up to frame Dean’s face, legs parting for Dean to rest between them.

“You’re beautiful,” Dean mumbles without thinking. Castiel lets out a happy sigh into Dean’s mouth, reaching down to ruck up his robes and bare his waist. Neediness claws its way into Dean, and his hands skate along the smooth, tan planes of Castiel’s hips, rocking against him. He kisses those hips, tastes the coconut tang of Castiel’s skin, making his way down to where he’s hard and straining.

“Is this safe?” Dean asks, anxious to lap at the precome he can see pearling at the head of Castiel’s erection.

Castiel looks down at him, eyes still shining. “Safe? Why wouldn’t… ah. You mean human ailments. I assure you, my spend is safe for consumption.”

“Oh man, there has to be a better way to put that,” Dean groans.

Castiel lifts his hips enough for the head of his cock to brush against Dean’s lips. “Well, we can quibble over my choice of words, or we can do something more entertaining.”

Dean’s tongue darts out, pressing against the head. Castiel is circumcised, like him, and Dean can’t help but get distracted by that detail. Was he born in a hospital, then? Was he born human? Does his kind just practice human rituals?

“Your mind is wandering,” Castiel says.

Dean looks up at him. “Yeah.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Your dick.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yep,” Dean says, before bringing his mouth over Castiel’s cockhead, delighting at the way Castiel’s body jerks.

“Oh,” Castiel groans as more of him slides into Dean’s mouth, “that’s nice, that’s very nice.”

It’s been ages since Dean’s done this, felt the blood-warm weight of another man on his tongue, but it feels nice. He has one hand gripping at Castiel’s hip, the other holding Castiel’s cock steady while he lowers himself as far as he can go without gagging before slowly bobbing his head, working into a rhythm, cradling Castiel’s cock with his tongue as he goes. Castiel is making delirious sounds of pleasure, heels digging into the leather jacket on Dean’s back.

Dean easily loses himself in the process, periodically pulling off of Castiel’s cock to lick and kiss along the shaft, or nip at Castiel’s inner thighs, or toy with his balls, spit slick fingers trailing down to the core of him. He pulls his mouth off after a particularly vigorous suck, jacking Castiel and looking up at him.

“I was so jealous of that man earlier, hated the idea of someone else touching you,” he confesses.

“Ah, _Dean_ ,” Castiel whines, eyes still full of glowing light. Dean can see the tattoos shimmering under his sleeves, the light is beautiful.

“I don’t know you, it feels so wrong that I’m thinking of you as _mine,_ but I do, Cas. You’re mine, and the thought that he might have had his hands on you made me sick.” Not a sin in Dean’s mind, but something he feels a bit guilty for, possessive behavior and all that. It clearly counts as a sin for Castiel, though, because he screams, heels now a painful pressure on Dean’s back while he comes on his stomach, and Dean’s hand. The lanterns don’t outright explode like they did yesterday, but most of them go out, cases cracking.

“Jesus,” Dean mutters, frantically opening his jeans so he can get a hand in his boxers, jerking himself in wet, ruthless strokes. The power that oozes out of Castiel, Dean’s never seen anything like it. He didn’t think that sort of thing would be attractive to him, but apparently he just hadn’t met the right creature. He comes quickly, sucking a bruise into Castiel’s thigh.

 

*

 

Dean didn’t stay long yesterday. Castiel had lit a candle so Dean could find his clothes, and he’d fallen asleep by the time Dean was dressed, so Dean left. This time when Castiel falls asleep, Dean peels his jacket off, then pulls his shoes and socks off so that he can stand with his feet in the cool grass inside the tent. He looks around at what’s visible under the glow of the few lanterns that didn’t break. There’s not a whole lot to the tent aside from the futon. The table and chairs Castiel conjured on the first day are nowhere to be seen, there’s a few National Geographic magazines on the floor, and that’s about it. No food, no trinkets or knickknacks, not even the other clothes Dean has seen him wearing. Dean wonders if there are other things in the room that he can’t see, like the table and chairs.

Still barefoot, he pads out of the tent, freezing when he gets outside. There’s more grass, for sure. The radius has spread at least another foot or two into the carnival, the grass taller, even more vibrant. There are pink tulips now, in addition to the red ones and white ones still scattered about.

The carnival goers have obviously taken notice, a few are snapping photos with their phones from afar, but no one is coming closer to inspect. Interesting. Dean wonders if they know what Castiel is, or at least know that he’s not human. He wilts when one of them takes a photo of _him,_ but once they realize he’s noticed, they turn away.

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he plucks it out, cringing when he sees the caller.

“Hey,” he says when he answers, trying and probably failing to sound friendly.

“Hey, kid. In a bit of a tight spot, could use your help,” his father says, voice tense. Dean wonders if he’s the first person John called. His father is respected in the hunter community, but a lot of them won’t work with him.

“Where are you?”

“Myton School, Myton, Utah. You nearby?”

“Define nearby. I’m in Colorado.”

“I could use a hand.”

“In a school.”

“It’s August, no one here but me.”

Dean sighs inwardly. He has no interest in leaving Castiel right now, especially to go see his damn father. “You sound weird, am I on speaker?”

“Yeah. Hands are tied behind me.”

Wow, that’s impressive. Dean’s pretty sure he couldn’t operate his phone with his hands behind his back if his life depended on it. “What happened?”

“Vamps. Locked me in the basement, forgot to take my phone away. Think they’re keeping me alive for feeding time, not sure when that is.” John sounds shockingly bland at his life being in peril, which isn’t surprising. Some days he really does have a death wish, Dean’s almost surprised he’s not just lying down and waiting to die. Hunter self-preservation instincts are probably hard to ignore.

“Since when do vamps save snacks for later?”

“They’d already drained Tara, maybe they’re fucking full, Dean,” John barks.

“Fuck, Tara’s dead?” Tara doesn’t go out on hunts all that often, trick knee and all.

John sighs. “Yeah. She’s right here.”

“Call the fucking cops to come let you out, Dad, Jesus.”

“Dean, I’m down here with a dead body, I’ve got two decapitated vampires in my truck out front, and I’m covered in blood.”

Of fucking course. Man, this day took a fucking turn. “Myton School, right? I’m on my way, Dad. I’ll go as fast as I can, alright? Don’t you go down without a fucking fight.”

“Alright, son.”

John ends the call before Dean can say anything else and Dean curses, rushing back into the tent to put his socks and boots back on. Fuck.

Dean could probably get there and back before Castiel wakes up, but he thinks about how fucked up it would be if he left and died and Castiel thought he just bailed. He shakes Castiel’s shoulder, and after several seconds Castiel finally wakes, looking up at Dean in confusion.

“Dean?”

“I gotta go, Cas. My dad’s in trouble with some vampires in Utah, I need to get him out. I’ll come back, okay?”

Castiel nods, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and standing. “Very well, let’s go.”

“Uh, no, you’re not coming.”

“You can’t expect me to let my mate go against _vampires_ unprotected.”

“Cas, I’m a hunter, this is what I do.”

“You’re wasting time with an argument that you will lose, Dean,” Castiel says matter-of-factly.

“Alright, well you’re staying in the fucking car, Cas.” Castiel doesn’t answer, and Dean sighs. “Let’s go. Need anything?”

Castiel shakes his head. “I have everything I need.”

 

*

 

They’re on the road two minutes when Dean passes Castiel his phone.

“Do you know how to uh… use one of those?”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Yes, Dean.”

“Well I don’t fucking know, man! Look up how to get from here to Myton, Utah.”

“Alright,” Castiel says, smiling at Dean’s Dr. Sexy phone background. A minute or so passes before he speaks again. “The highway we’re on now will take us in the right direction. Your father is very fortunate that you were so close.”

Dean nods, shuddering slightly. If he’d gone back to Valencia after his hunt, John wouldn’t have a chance in hell. There’s a few minutes of silence, and then Castiel sighs.

“There was a time when I could have gotten us to Myton in the blink of an eye.”

“Really,” Dean says. He glances over at Castiel, he looks sad.

“Yes. I had something taken from me, something that stole some of my power.”

“You seem pretty powerful to me.”

“The energy I absorb gives me power, but it will never be able to restore what was taken.”

“Who… took it?”

“Family.”

“Family full of dicks?”

“No, not at all. They stood beside me, avenged me. But what happened to me, it… hurt, and it changed how the others saw me. Their pity was absolutely exhausting, so I left.”

“Do you miss them?”

“Sometimes. I will see them again someday, when I am ready.”

“What got taken away from you, Cas?”

Castiel takes Dean’s closest hand from the wheel, kissing the knuckles. “A story for another day, perhaps.”

Dean nods sadly. He can hear the grief in Castiel’s voice, can tell whatever he lost was very, very important. “Well, I don’t know what you were like before, but I think you’re pretty cool as you are now.”

Castiel smiles. “I’ve had a long time to find myself, and my peace since then. I am no longer in mourning, though the scars remain.”

“I’m glad you’re in a good place, then.”

“With you, I am in a wonderful place.”

 

*

 

“So, why tulips?”

Castiel turns to look at Dean. “What do you mean?”

“There’s all those tulips in front of your tent, I was wondering why.”

“I told you, sometimes I have energy to burn.”

“Yeah, but why tulips?”

“ _Oh,_ ” Castiel says, and Dean can see him smile out of the corner of his eye. “I like tulips.”

“That’s it? There’s no hidden meaning?”

“The meaning is that I like tulips.”

“Okay, well what about the colors? What do they mean?”

“I think it’s better if I keep that to myself.”

“Why?”

“You’ll get embarrassed.”

“No I won’t, tell me.”

“Very well. Red tulips are said to represent passionate love—”

“Okay stop, I changed my mind.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Shut up, Cas.”

“Could it be that you’re embarrassed?”

“Shut _up,_ Cas.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I will leave you on the side of the road.”

“No you won’t.”

 

*

 

It’s strange, seeing Castiel in the Impala. He’s still in the red cassock, which now has a damn come stain on one of the sleeves, feet still bare, and he’s flipping through old cassette tapes from Dean’s glove compartment, but he still looks ethereal. Beautiful. Much too beautiful to be sitting in Dean’s ancient car, barrelling towards Utah to kill some vampires.

“Don’t you think it’s time to upgrade to a more modern form of audio playback?” Castiel says, startling Dean out of his train of thought.

“What? No. I like my tapes.”

“They’re very old and worn, an mp3 player would give you the songs you love with better sound clarity and more variety.”

“Do _you_ have an mp3 player?”

“No, but the younger people in the carnival are very fond of them.”

“Uh huh. What kind of music do you like?”

“All kinds. Humans have such a wide variety of emotions and an endless way of conveying them through music. My favorites are more instrumental in nature, though. More relaxing with no words to focus on.”

“So, like… Beethoven?”

“No, I believe it’s referred to as ‘ambient music’. It’s more about creating an energy, an atmosphere.”

“I think a lot of rave kids are into that.”

“You are radiating derision right now. I promise I find your Metallica and Led Zeppelin very agreeable as well.”

“Good. Because I will change my music for _no man,_ Cas. Even my uh… uh…”

“Mate.”

“Sure. Mate. Humans don’t call it that, you know.”

“I know. Your kind has many words. Lover, partner, boyfriend, husband, and a myriad of generational slang. I prefer mate. I will change my vocabulary for no man.”

Dean laughs, reaching over to elbow Castiel in the ribs. This is fun. It’s almost enough to make Dean forget that he has no idea if his father will still be alive by the time they reach Myton.

 

*

 

Myton is a dinky town with not much going on and one major road, and it’s easy to follow it right to Myton School. There are two vehicles parked out front, John’s truck, and an old brown van with the windows blacked out. Not promising. Dean is beyond tense, he tried to call John four times on the way in, and every time it went straight to voicemail.

“Fuck, I think they’re here,” Dean says, killing the engine and popping the trunk. “Stay here,” he adds.

He’s pulling his favorite machete out of the weapons cache in his trunk when he hears the other car door close, and he groans.

“Cas.”

“Dean.”

“ _No_.”

“You’re wasting time again,” Castiel says, starting toward the school.

“Fuck,” Dean mutters under his breath. He doesn’t know what Castiel is, but he hopes it’s something that can fight.

 

*

 

It’s still light outside, but the inside of the school is fairly dark. It’s spooky, even, more so since as is often the case, Dean knows there really are monsters in here.

“Keep your ears perked,” Dean whispers, and Castiel nods, looking more serious than Dean’s seen in their short time together.

They creep through the school past rows of doors and lockers, looking for any indication of where the basement is. He finally spots the door to the basement just as he hears a peal of raucous laughter from somewhere beyond the door. He wishes he could have a look at the layout before he goes barrelling in with a barefoot companion in a come-stained cassock, but this is the situation, and he might as well act. He slowly opens the door, pausing when he hears voices speaking.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Shh, shut the fuck up Dale, I think I heard the door open.”

“I didn’t hear nothin’.”

“Yeah well I ain’t trusting your shit senses.”

“Why don’t one of you go check on it instead of arguing?”

He’s hearing four different voices, so that’s great.

“You boys ought to listen to your momma, don’t you have any manners?” That’s John’s voice, and Dean hears a slapping sound and John grunting.

“We don’t gotta listen to dinner.”

“Well what are you waiting for? Get to eatin’,” John grumbles. Dean has no idea if John knows he’s here, or if he’s just ready to die.

“First you tell us who you were tryin’ to call, then maybe we’ll put you out of your misery. You bring more hunters in?”

Dean pushes the door open a little more while John and one of the vampires argue, trying to get a look inside. Judging by the way the voices are bouncing off the walls the basement is large, but they seem to be pretty close to the stairs, which are thankfully cement and not creaky metal or some shit.

Dean’s about to tell Castiel to stay put when Castiel yanks the machete out of his hand and dashes ahead, right to the fucking stairs, bare feet slapping on the concrete. He tries to catch him but Castiel is fast, flying down the stairs while Dean’s struggling to keep up.

He hears a confused “who the fuck…” and then the heavy squelch of a head being chopped off that Dean’s heard many, many times. By the time he reaches the bottom of the stairs the head is rolling toward him, the eyes open in surprise.

Castiel is already darting over to the next vampire in a flurry of red fabric, body a graceful arc as he swings the machete to take her head off. One of the vampires seems to realize he’s in some deep shit because he runs for the stairs. Dean pulls out his gun and fires a few rounds into the vampire’s head, which isn’t enough to kill him, but it sure as shit slows him down enough for Castiel to cleave his head off. The last vampire pounces on Castiel’s back, ready to bite down when Castiel reaches behind himself, grabbing the vampire by the back of the neck and flinging him across the room one handed. Castiel is after him before he even lands, and as soon as he stands up Castiel swings the machete one last time, taking the head off and stepping to the side when it and the body fall to the ground.

The entire display takes less than a minute.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Dean hisses, pocketing his gun. He finally notices his father, sitting on the floor against a support beam, arms tied behind his back around the beam. He’s staring up with a fascinating mix of awe and fear as Castiel moves to chop the plastic ties binding his arms behind the post.

“This is a good weapon,” Castiel says, handing the bloody machete back to Dean like he didn’t just fucking destroy four vampires faster than Dean can tie his shoes.

John climbs to his feet, looking down at Tara’s body on the floor next to him, pale, drained. John looks a little battered, but seems physically fine. Now that his father’s okay Dean can finally get pissed. John always does this. He’s good, but he’s reckless, and he gets people killed. It’s why most seasoned hunters won’t work with him, and Dean is surprised Tara agreed to.

“Brought a friend, I see,” John says, the ingrate.

“Friend? No, Dean is my mate,” Castiel says.

Dean covers his face with his hands, wondering if he should have mentioned to Castiel that his bisexuality was on the secret side.

“ _Mate_?” John says, looking back and forth between Dean and Castiel. What Dean wouldn’t give to be back in Colorado right now, sprawled out in the grass and tulips around Castiel’s tent. John shakes his head, gesturing to the bodies strewn about. “Alright well, Dean, Dean’s _mate,_ we have cleaning to do.”

 

*

 

Castiel is walking back to get the last of the vampires out of the basement when John turns to Dean. It’s great that they can stand here and chat with a bunch of bloody and headless corpses resting in the bed of John’s truck. “Who the hell is this guy?”

“Castiel. He’s… new.”

“He’s _barefoot_.”

“Yeah pretty sure he’s not wearing any underwear either,” Dean says, then winces. It’s been a long day, he’s not thinking clearly.

“And you and this ‘Castiel’ are _mates_?”

Dean supposes there’s no point in lying. “Yeah, I guess.”

“And he’s…”

“A man, yeah.”

“Is he?”

Ah, so that’s what he’s getting at. Dean shrugs. “Sure.”

“Come on, Dean. I’m not blind. I saw the way he moved, saw him throw that vamp across the room, I heard him _speak._ He’s… what is he?”

“Mine. He’s mine. That’s all you need to know.”

“He’s not human.”

“He’s human enough.”

John scowls. “We’re hunters, we don’t—”

“No, _you_ don’t. I do. I hunt _evil,_ not folks trying to live their damn lives.”

John sighs. “You’re still mad about Oakridge.”

“You’re _damn right_ I’m still mad about Oakridge. She wasn’t hurting anyone. She had it under control.”

“Some day she would have slipped, and then what?”

“You don’t know that, we don’t get to decide they _might_ be evil down the road.”

“I did what I had to. She might have lost control some day, and those deaths would have been on my hands.”

“Yeah, well fuck you,” Dean spits, right as Castiel comes back to drop the last body in the back of John’s truck. “Get in the car, Cas, we’re leaving.”

Castiel looks back and forth between Dean and John before nodding and getting into the Impala.

“Dean,” John says, exasperated.

“ _What_?”

“Thank you. For coming.”

Dean sighs. “Yeah, Dad. Enjoy your barbecue.” He gets into the car, starts the engine, and pulls right out of the school’s parking lot. It’s probably a bit of a dick move to leave all the bodies for John to have to burn himself, but he’s already pretty fed up.

“So,” Castiel says as they pull onto the main road, “that was your father.”

“Yeah, John Winchester in the flesh.”

“He’s lucky to have such a loyal son.”

Dean casts a lopsided grin Castiel’s way. He doesn’t want to talk about John. “Yeah, well I’m lucky to have a fucking badass tagging along with me.”

“You flatter me,” Castiel says, reaching over to scratch some dried blood off of Dean’s wrist with his fingernail.

 

*

 

They stop at a gas station on the way back to Colorado, and Castiel watches with fascination while Dean eats three corn dogs in under two minutes while leaning against the Impala.

By the time they get back to the carnival it’s well after ten at night, and it’s very dark. Dean kind of expected it to still be open, but there are no cars in the lot, the stalls are all boarded up, the field deserted. He follows Castiel to the tent, not terribly surprised when they get inside and the lanterns are whole and lit again.

“So, did you like our first date?” Dean says, plopping down on the futon.

“Hmm, my personal experience with human courtship is fairly limited, but I don’t know if that excursion could be considered a ‘date’.”

“Should I take you to dinner and a movie, then?”

“I do like movies, although my experiences at the theater have been disappointing. People talking loudly, throwing popcorn, fiddling with their bright cellphones… it’s all very distracting. I once witnessed two men in the back row giving each other oral pleasure while I was attempting to enjoy a movie about a fish lost in Australia. It’s so hard to focus when things like that happen.”

Wow. “Yeah, I can see how that might not be fun. We should go to a drive-in theater sometime, you ever been to one of those?”

“No, I’ve never had a car.”

“How the hell do you get from place to place?”

“I walk, sometimes hitchhike. I have plenty of time on my hands.”

Dean glances down at Castiel’s feet. “Do you walk barefoot?”

Castiel’s toes wriggle in the grass. “Not always. My skin is not particularly durable, even compared to a human.”

“I can’t believe you fought those vampires barefoot.”

“Yes, I suppose I am fortunate there was nothing sharp strewn about on the ground, though I am a fast healer. Especially if I’ve recently fed.”

“Does that mean the hickey I left on your thigh is gone?”

Castiel chuckles. “No, I liked it, so I kept it.”

Weird.

“Come on,” Castiel says, kneeling to untie Dean’s shoes, “you should rest. You’ve had a stressful day, and it’s late.”

There’s something so wrong about this otherworldly creature kneeling at Dean’s feet, but Dean is comforted anyway. “Yeah, I’m beat.”

They eventually get settled in the futon, Dean in his shirt and boxers, Castiel’s head on his chest. The lanterns have dimmed by whatever mojo Castiel is using, and it’s blissfully silent.

“What if someone comes in while we’re asleep?” Dean says, fingers running through Castiel’s short hair.

“They can’t.”

“Cool.” Dean smooths his hands along Castiel’s sides, then pulls the fabric up until he can get his hands underneath.

“I thought you were… ‘beat’,” Castiel says, nuzzling at Dean’s neck.

“I am.” Dean palms at Castiel’s ass, gripping his flesh and pulling him closer.

Castiel shifts until he’s braced on his hands above Dean. “Shouldn’t you lie still and close your eyes?”

“I’m getting to that,” Dean says. Castiel’s skin is soft and warm, as though he’s been sprawled out in the sun. Even after hours in a car and severing the heads of four vampires he still smells faintly of coconut and summer rain. “You were amazing in that basement, Cas, I’ve never seen something so gory and so fuckin’ beautiful.”

Castiel rolls his hips down against Dean’s, groaning softly. “Flatterer.”

“I’m serious. You were fierce, you were strong, you were _fast._ ”

“And these are attractive qualities for you?”

“Hell yeah, my strong warrior,” Dean says, moaning when Castiel bites down on his neck.

“Mmm, my brave hunter,” Castiel murmurs, tongue lapping at the tender bite.

Dean puts one hand on the back of Castiel’s neck, turning his head to whisper in his ear. “About four years ago I was kind of going through a rough patch, and saw a guy almost hit a woman and her son with his car because he was busy on his cellphone. I followed him in my car until he stopped to get something at a corner store, and then I slashed his back tires while he was inside and left.”

Castiel’s breath hitches, tattoos glowing under his clothing. “ _Dean_.”

“Just a little snack for you.”

Castiel kisses Dean then, wet and demanding. “Let me have you,” Castiel says, pleading.

“You do, you do have me,” Dean promises, diving in for another kiss.

Castiel shakes his head and pulls back, working a hand under Dean to grab a handful of his ass. “No,” he says, grinding their erections together through thin layers of fabric, “let me _have_ you.”

“Oh, fuck. Yeah, Cas. Yeah, you can have me.”

Castiel lets out a pleased sort of purr, pulling away from Dean and crouching next to the futon. Dean rolls over to look at him and sees Castiel digging through a large, weathered wooden trunk that definitely wasn’t there when they came in. After a moment Castiel tosses a jar of something white onto the bed and closes the trunk, and Dean is not at all surprised when the thing vanishes slowly before his eyes. Dean picks up the jar, unscrewing the lid. It smells like Castiel, without the addition of petrichor.

“Is this coconut oil?”

Castiel smiles, leaning forward to work Dean’s boxers down his hips. “It’s wonderful for skin and hair.” He shoves some blankets underneath Dean’s ass to prop him up. “Among other things. Have to use a lot, though...” He pulls off his cassock and tosses it to the side before he unscrews the jar, digging his fingers into the dense substance until he has a generous amount, then rubbing his hands together until it’s warm and melted.

Dean spreads his legs, nervous but eager, eyes roaming over Castiel’s tattoos. “Is that why you always smell fuckin’ incredible?”

Castiel smiles, rubbing a finger against Dean’s hole in slow, gentle circles. “Evidently. Have you ever done this before?”

“Yeah. Why, am I giving off nervous virgin vibes?”

“Not at all,” Castiel says, still teasing around Dean’s rim.

“It’s been a really, really long time though, and honestly the sex kind of sucked. Not a nice guy, really.”

“Hmm, well let’s see if we can’t make this experience better than the last.” Castiel finally pushes a finger in, slowly, still making a circular motion.

“So far, so good. _So_ good.”

Castiel works slowly, gently, and Dean drifts in and out of the moment, mostly watching Castiel watch his own fingers. It’s almost peaceful. Dean’s neediness is simmering quietly but growing, and in the meantime he luxuriates in the kisses Castiel lays on his knees, the feeling of one, then two, then three fingers rubbing and stretching inside of him. His body jerks in delight every time Castiel rubs a finger against his prostate, just often enough to keep Dean biting on his lower lip.

Dean’s never going to be able to smell coconut again without thinking about Castiel’s fingers in his ass.

“This has been difficult,” Castiel says suddenly.

“What has?”

“Being patient.” Castiel rubs slippery fingers along Dean’s perineum, then cups Dean’s balls, something possessive in the gentle hold. “Getting you ready. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy the process, but I am ravenous for more of you, to feel you surrounding me.”

Dean smirks. “Then what are you waiting for?”

“Sometimes self-denial is terribly tantalizing.”

“You’re an ass. Fuck me, Castiel.”

Castiel huffs out a laugh, reaching into the jar and getting a rather copious amount of oil to put on his cock. “There is something to be said for drawing out pleasure.”

“Yeah, well tease yourself on your own time, buddy.”

Castiel clucks his tongue, leaning in close to Dean and rubbing the head of his cock in circles where Dean is slippery and open. He kisses Dean, tangling their tongues together, panting in his mouth, still not pushing in. It drives Dean wild, being there, _right there,_ and not having what he wants most in this moment.

It’s kind of incredible.

“Okay. Okay, I guess I get it,” Dean groans, fingers sliding through the soft strands of hair on Castiel’s head, pulling him down into another kiss, giving himself over to the idea that he can keep waiting, even though Castiel is right there, right at the edge of where Dean wants him.

They lie there kissing long enough for Dean to forget his own impatience, and that’s when Castiel starts to push himself in. Dean whimpers into Castiel’s mouth, adrenaline sparking through him. Castiel works his way inside with short, easy rolls of his hips, getting a little deeper each time until he’s all the way in. There’s a fine tremor running through Castiel as he braces himself on his arms, looking down at Dean.

“I would suggest you not confess anything to me while we’re joined like this, if you intend for this to last longer than a handful of seconds.”

“So, you don’t want to hear about when I—” Dean’s cut off when Castiel puts a hand over his mouth, and he can’t help but run his tongue along Castiel’s palm. Castiel growls, pulling his hand away and slapping it back down on the bed.

He fucks Dean then, hands on his hips, body strong and graceful. Before long Dean is rolling his ass into each thrust, head thrown back, hands clutching Castiel’s shoulders tight. Castiel leans down to mutter endearments in Dean’s ear, some in English, most not. He kisses Dean in between words, his temples, his lips, his neck, everywhere he can reach without ceasing the movement of their bodies.

“You feel… so good like this, Dean,” Castiel whines, hands reaching under Dean’s back.

“Cas, I think we’re not gonna last long whether I confess or not,” Dean groans, shuddering at the blunt pressure on his prostate.

“Dean, _Dean_.”

Dean hears a noise, some strange shifting sound, almost like rustling fabric or papers. For some reason it triggers a memory of two days ago, when he lie spent and sated in the dark of Castiel’s tent, that feeling of feathers on his skin. How had he forgotten that?

He looks into Castiel’s eyes. “Show them to me.”

Castiel slows, but doesn’t stop. “Dean…”

“Let me see, Cas.”

Castiel does stop then, still inside Dean. He bows his head, and Dean waits for a handful of seconds before he sees them.

Wings, black and magnificent unfold from nothing behind Castiel, slow, shaking.

“Ah,” Dean says, and Castiel pulls back slightly to look down at him. There’s something vulnerable in his eyes. Fear, maybe. Dean reaches out to rub his hand against a thick, warm muscle along the top of Castiel’s left wing. “There you are,” he whispers.

Castiel lets out some harsh, broken sound, kissing Dean with an almost painful force. Dean moves his hand down Castiel’s back, urging him to move, to keep going, and Castiel obeys. The wing under Dean’s hand feels durable enough for him to hold it tight so he does, massaging it with his thumb, grinning at the way it makes Castiel all but crumble against him.

“Dean,” Castiel sighs, shoving desperately into him. Dean’s thighs are squeezed so tight around Castiel’s hips the tension is making them cramp, but he’s overwhelmed, slowly getting lost in the feel of warm feathered muscle under his hand, the smell of coconut permeating the air, Castiel’s short, excited gasps.

Castiel brings one trembling hand down to Dean’s cock, stroking in time with his thrusts, face buried in Dean’s neck as Dean starts to shake with his impending orgasm.

“Getting me so close, Cas,” he whines, both hands on Castiel’s wings now. “Gonna follow me over the edge?”

“I’d follow you anywhere, Dean,” Castiel mutters, and then Dean’s coming, eyes squeezed shut, fingers digging into Castiel’s wings. Not even a second passes before Castiel’s shouting through his orgasm, lanterns shattering as he follows Dean over the edge, just like he promised.

 

*

 

Dean wakes clean, sprawled out on his back, wondering how much time has passed. Castiel is sitting next to him, smiling gently, wings spread out lazily behind him.

“So, you’re… I mean I didn’t think angels were even _real_ , but...”

Castiel shakes his head. “No, not exactly.”

“What, then?”

“Before I tell you, you must remember that I would never hurt you.”

Dean snorts, sitting up. “Promising.”

“Have you ever met a demon, Dean?”

“Yeah. My mom was killed by one when I was a kid.”

Castiel frowns. “I’m sorry.”

“That glamorous hunter life, you know? He got her before she got him.”

“Who was he?”

“Pretty big time demon, actually. Azazel.”

“Ah, I’ve heard that name. If it puts you at ease, I once heard whispers of his death.”

Dean can’t help but let out a small laugh. “Yeah, that was me.” Castiel’s eyes widen, and Dean can’t help but feel a small shiver of pride that he seems impressed. “So, are you a demon? Because I’ve gotta say, I’ve met quite a few demons in my time, and not one of them had wings or glowing tattoos.”

“I’m… something else. Something that wasn’t supposed to be. My mother was a demon. The first, actually. Lilith.”

Dean’s heard of Lilith, he thought it was Demon Sunday School bullshit. The first demon made by the devil, feared by all who came after her. He pets Castiel’s wing some more. “And your father?”

“My kind once called him The Light Bearer, for once he shone brightest of all angels. Now he is known as Lucifer.”

Dean’s hand stills. “Lucifer.”

“Yes.”

“ _Satan_ is your father.”

Castiel sighs. “Lucifer is my father, yes.”

“So you’re… half angel, half demon?”

“I think that’s a bit simplistic. I am more angel than I am demon, and I am neither my father nor my mother when it comes to… _personality._ ”

“Go on,” Dean says, going back to stroking Castiel’s feathers.

“So, I’m sure you know some of the story. Lucifer, jealous of God’s love for humanity lashed out and was banished from Heaven, left to dwell in the underworld, where only the darkest souls reside. Over time, Lucifer twisted one of these souls into the first demon, and they became lovers.”

“So, he created your mom? Doesn’t that kind of make you inbred? He’s your dad _and_ your granddad!”

Castiel scowls. “It’s _nothing_ like that. That’s a bit vulgar, don’t you think?”

“Keep talking.”

“They ruled the underworld for centuries, created more demons, carried on as those in Hell do. But somehow… well, I happened. It defies logic, demons cannot _create life,_ Dean, but this one did, my mother bore a child. The other angels tell me that my father took one look at me, and then gazed upon his kingdom, at the blood and ichor and fire of Hell, and he knew it wasn’t what he wanted for me. So he called upon Gabriel, and Gabriel came for me, brought me out of perdition, to the Heavens where I would grow untouched by the taint of my birthplace. They say my mother was bereft… as bereft as a demon can be, anyway, but I was far from her reach.”

“Damn.”

“I was not like the other angels. Where most angels had two wings, I had six, like my father. Where they had plumes of white and gold, mine were black. Where the others were nourished by hope and prayer, it was discovered… quite by accident, that I was fed by sin, confession, remorse.”

“What kind of accident?”

“Gabriel has told me I was weak in my early days, my grace faint, and fading. It was feared that I would not survive, and the others advised him to talk to me, so that I might pass on hearing the voice of my family. Gabriel says he spent hours telling me stories about the other angels, and as he grew weary, he confessed to me that he often wished he had fought harder to keep my father in Heaven. His confession revitalized me.”

“So, you can get powered by human _and_ angel guilt?”

“Perhaps other creatures as well, but it’s never come up.”

“I was so very different from the others. But it was Heaven, and angels are hopeful creatures. They tried their best to treat me as one of them, coming to me to confess their sins and mistakes when I needed nourishment until I was old enough to come down to Earth and get it for myself. I was strong, of course, my six wings were a source of great power. I was a warrior, hence these,” Castiel says, gesturing at his tattoos.

“Why do they glow?”

“Just my grace coming to the surface when I feed, nothing unusual for an angel channeling power.”

“So… you _had_ six wings.”

Castiel nods sadly. “The problem with angels, is we can be… naive. We are a family, we trust our family. For me, that meant not seeing how much one of my own despised me. His name was Zachariah. He loathed me for my power, and for my dark origin. He was not stronger than me, but he had a clever tongue, and he found my mother, convinced her that without my wings I would become a full demon, and could come home to her. My mother was… misguided. Insane. Vicious. They lured me to Earth, captured me, cut away four of my wings before my father came from the underworld to save me.”

“You were saved by the devil?”

Castiel smiles. “My parents loved me very much, Dean. Even my mother with her twisted soul and confused mind acted out of her version of love. But my father could not forgive her for desecrating his only son, so he destroyed both her and Zachariah, wiped them from the Earth in a fierce and terrible light.”

Wow, what a fucking story. “Then what?”

Castiel shrugs. “He left. I am not part of his world, and he is not part of mine. I went back to Heaven, he went back to Hell.”

“And then all the angels acted weird around you.”

“Yes. They didn’t mean any harm by it of course, but when they looked at me they saw my mother’s insanity, Zachariah’s cruelty, my father’s terrifying power. They saw two wings where once there were six. They saw me as wounded, even when my wounds healed. They saw me as broken. I could not bear their pity any longer, and so I came to Earth, and here I stayed.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Must I tell you _all_ my secrets this moment?”

“Touchy about your age, huh. Do you think you’ll ever go back to Heaven?”

“Well, I’ll have to.”

“For what?”

“I told you, Dean, I’ll follow you anywhere.”

Dean slumps, glaring at Castiel and moving his hands away. “That’s fucking morbid, thanks.”

“I wasn’t saying it would be _soon._ ”

“Well I’m glad you’re willing to follow me, Cas, because I’ve gotta say I can only stay in this tent for so long before I get a little stir crazy.”

“I will leave whenever you wish, Dean.”

“Cool. Not just yet though.”

“No?”

“No, we’re going to lay here and be lazy and talk about all your secrets.” Dean flops backwards onto the futon and Castiel lies next to him, one wing draped over them both.

“Absolutely slothful of us,” Castiel mutters.

“Oh shit, isn’t that a sin? Should I confess?”

“I’ve told you, Dean, it’s only a sin if you feel it is,” Castiel says fondly.

“Well,” Dean says, lacing their fingers together, smiling down at where Castiel’s head is resting on his chest, “let’s see what happens.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> That's all of this for now! Hope you enjoyed. :)


End file.
